


i fell like a dreamer

by fireandfolds



Series: there's some beauty here yet [17]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Asexual Kara Danvers, Best Friends, Diary/Journal, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Lena Luthor Knows Kara Danvers Is Supergirl, POV Kara Danvers, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Supercorptober, Supercorptober 2020, kara writes a journal entry about lena, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireandfolds/pseuds/fireandfolds
Summary: Rolling to her back, she reaches into her messenger bag she’d thrown against the couch, pulling out a Moleskine and a ballpoint. She turns to a fresh page, and the comforting sound of scratching on paper ensues.Reasons why Lena Luthor is beautiful.supercorptober 2020 prompt seventeen: beautiful.title from “traveler” by hippo campus.
Relationships: Kara Danvers & Lena Luthor, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Series: there's some beauty here yet [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952920
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	i fell like a dreamer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lenalvthors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenalvthors/gifts).



> this one goes out to lena, who’s every bit as sexy as lena luthor. 
> 
> anygay, this fic is literally just me ranting about how lovely lena is...as kara. enjoy.

———

“Kara, duck!”

“Hm?” 

She looks up to find a piece of machinery flying towards her. Thank Rao she has her powers. She quickly sidesteps and grabs the stainless steel piece out of the air—but she doesn’t see the cables on the floor.

“Kara!”

Fortunately, she doesn’t knock over any of the tables. But damn, if it wasn’t for her reflexes helping her again, the concrete floor of Lena’s lab would’ve looked like neuron dendrites. 

The split-second float makes her “fall” to the ground softer, but even then her best friend is next to her with worry lining her face.

“I’m good! I assume you need this?” She hands the piece off to the CEO, who sets it on a nearby lab bench without looking, laser-focused on the now standing Kara.

“Are you joking? I’m worried about _you,_ darling.” The brunette’s hand ghosts her cheek.

Lena says it so easily and casually, it makes Kara falter in her step again, _almost._ Lena states it like she’s reciting the weather, or presenting something to her board. Of _course_ she’s worried about her. Obviously.

It’s one of the things Kara loves about her. 

———

She leaves Lena to tinker on her machines with a long hug, a kiss pressed into onyx hair, and a _See you later, I love you._

When she gets home, Kara makes a beeline for the couch, falling face down into the cushions. Luckily, she’d had the foresight to ask Lena to reinforce everything in their apartment with Nth metal, to avoid any mishaps. 

Rolling to her back, she reaches into her messenger bag she’d thrown against the couch, pulling out a Moleskine and a ballpoint. She turns to a fresh page, and the comforting sound of scratching on paper ensues.

_Reasons why Lena Luthor is beautiful._

———

_One: her eyes._

The first thing I noticed the moment I stepped into Lena’s office was how green her eyes were. 

They were piercing, cold, and aloof. She’d seen a lot of stuff in her life; and it takes one to know one. I saw the pain of misplaced trust and betrayal, dispersed among the gold flecks. 

I’d heard horror stories from Kal, regarding the green that could very well destroy us both. I’d learned that “Luthor” and “green” in the same thought was a bad thing.

I wondered if these irises were what he meant; I couldn’t collect my thoughts, I felt a little dizzy and lightheaded, and my hands were sweating. I almost dropped my camera, straight onto the floor. 

It’s not. And I’m very glad it’s not.

She seemed surprised that I was giving her a chance. I told her everyone deserves one, especially when you work as hard as Lena Luthor. I swear to Rao, I saw her eyes lighten when I said that.

Over time, Lena’s eyes grew warmer. _(“Don’t tell anyone.”)_ And they _see_ me, in a way no one’s bothered to look at me. Not even Alex.

Before I could tell her about my side job, she beat me to the punch. A couple months into our friendship, one night I was over at her place. I said, “I should get going,” and she replied, “You can stay if you want.” 

I said something dumb, like, “What?” She was calm and collected, but her eyes were warm. “Do you really think I can’t tell what my best friend looks like without her glasses? I know _I_ actually have bad vision, but how blind do you think I am?”

I couldn’t see her eyes after that, because I was hugging her. Also, I might have been crying. 

We had a long conversation, and I made sure to explain all the reasons why I’d kept it from her. I know her history with betrayal and lies and I could see that she was a little hurt by my secret. Her eyes kept filling up with tears, but she always told me that they were happy tears. She still looked amazing, even though there were tears rolling down her face. I could never. 

Lena notices. She knows when I’m feeling off, or I need a hug, or can’t get out of bed. She knows when I’m thinking things out, or frustrated about headlines. I don’t have to say anything; it’s just a single look. 

I know her too. The rest of her face might not show anything at times, but her eyes have it all. It’s what separates Lena from the rest of the Luthors; their eyes are cold, dead, devoid of anything but darkness and hate. She’s different. So different. 

After the reveal, Lena started wearing glasses. It had to happen, with us staying overnight at each other’s place more often and all. She usually wears contacts, but when it’s late at night she changes into soft pajamas and dons her frames. It’s one of my favourite versions of her, honestly. Her eyes are warmest when it’s just us in the evenings. Less piercing and more gazing. And there’s a lot of gazing. I asked her about it once, and she just murmured “Sometimes, I can’t believe we’re friends.” It’s how I feel too. I can’t believe she’s friends with someone like _me._

But I’m grateful she is. It gives me time to study her green eyes, whenever possible. Well, usually green eyes. Sometimes, the blue spattered throughout is more evident, usually when she’s standing somewhere light. When she’s happy, it’s a light green; when she’s mad it’s a deep emerald. 

Her vibrant eyes (especially when they’re behind her glasses) make it a little hard to pay attention to what she’s saying sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

———

_Two: her smile._

When we first met, Lena understandably had her CEO mask on. It was smooth, professional, and detached. Her smile was less a _smile_ and more of a grimace. The words passing through her lips were clipped and stiff. It was painful to watch, to hear. 

I’ve had the pleasure of watching Lena’s smile grow more genuine. It was slow coming, but I’m stubborn and willing to try. I didn’t lean on her boundaries too hard right away, I slowly made friends with her on her terms. I kept shooting smiles and small gifts her way, prodding her to eat and drink something and get out of the office at a reasonable time. 

It’s so adorable, when she smiles her real smile. It softens her whole face up, making her seem like the young woman she is. Too often, the weight on her shoulders makes her seem so much older than me. I’m glad I’m seeing her smile more.

I see it when we meet up for brunch and she’s sitting at our usual booth at Noonan’s looking down at her phone. I see it when I show up to her lab and she’s figured out something. She usually has something on her face, and in casual clothes too. The glasses-smile combo is particularly devastating. I see it when she drops by my office at CatCo. And when I go to drag her out of _her_ office, she’s always got a tired smile ready for me.

Whenever she gets close enough, I get to feel her smile make contact with my face. _(“Hello again, darling.”)_ The hello and goodbye pecks from her are just a part of our routine now—especially when I have to go do hero business. Sometimes they’re short, other times they linger. When they linger, I make sure to hug her a little bit longer.

It doesn’t matter where we are; unless we’re in an argument (but those don’t last long), she always greets me with a smile. According to Jess, she doesn’t smile at or for anyone else like she does to me. I didn’t believe it, until I hosted a game night and Lena only shot what I thought was her usual smile at _me._ It’s always a little softer and bigger than smiles she directs to anyone else.

Lena’s got this thing with pet names? Darling, love, handsome, dear, honey. I have babe.

She uses darling the most, so by now you’d think I’d be used to them, but whenever she uses a pet name or “Kar,” I trip over myself and my words. She doesn’t use pet names for anyone else. Her voice is different when she’s talking to me, too. It’s so tender and gentle. There’s a certain lilt to it; it’s very unlike her cold scary CEO voice, and I love it. She loses her edge.

Not that I don’t love her when she’s in CEO mode. It’s fun to watch her knock men down a bajillion pegs, but I hope I’m never on the receiving end of her full wrath. It’s a stunning display...when it’s not directed at me. The switch from my Lena to businesswoman Lena is especially funny to witness firsthand, and I know not a lot people know both or have seen that transition.

I feel so lucky to know both the CEO and real side of her, and everything in between.

———

_Three: her brain._

Not a lot of people know this, but Lena’s technically Dr. Luthor, PhD. PhD in what, you ask? Biology, Chemistry, and Engineering. 

I _know._

She’s brilliant. No other word for it. I’m in awe of her, always.

She doesn’t like to tell people, because she doesn’t want to be seen as the egotistical Luthor bragging about herself. I think that’s nonsense, but I respect her privacy. It’s our little secret.

After she told me she knew about the side hustle, we were in her lab a lot more. I cherish all the moments we’ve had there. We’re so in sync, on the same brainwave, whatever you want to call it. It’s so nice working with just her in an empty lab (and sometimes music). 

In there, we’re equals. Just two minds trying to solve problems with science. We check the Super and Luthor business at the door. 

Not only that, she understands and knows me. She can anticipate and see things coming that I don’t even know about. And it’s hard to get a leg up on me.

Lena taught me to play chess, and since then I’ve been trying to beat her. No matter who’s black or who’s white, she always manages to win. _(“Checkmate, love.”)_

In all my years on Earth, I’ve never met someone who could match me intellectually. Then I met Lena. 

Who would’ve thought?

———

_Four: her heart._

Lena’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve met. She tries so hard to be good. Some of it is because of her name, yes, but mostly she’s just a good person. There’s no ulterior motive. 

From going out of her way to make the Luthor manor into a long-term support system for the homeless/orphaned, to making inventions that help queer youth be themselves, to continually upgrading my gear, Lena’s heart is always in the right place. But she’s too humble about it. I’m proud to wear a suit crafted by her; anytime anyone asks, I can easily tell them that Lena Luthor made it for me.

It’s funny how much she’s worried about _me_ when _she’s_ the human between us. That’s why I’m worried about _her_ all the time; there’s attacks on her basically every week. 

When I first got here, my hearing was so sensitive that I would have meltdowns all the time. It felt like ice picks were poking my brain. Eliza and Jeremiah told me to focus on something constant, to anchor myself and help me focus and work on keeping my hearing in control. Eliza had the brilliant idea of heartbeats. Whenever I felt the world getting too loud, she told me to focus on the heartbeat of someone I love. For the next few years, I listened to Eliza’s and Alex’s heartbeat often.

Now, even though I have my hearing mostly under control, I still have certain heartbeats memorised: Eliza and Alex, obviously, and now Lena. I started listening to Lena’s heartbeat because it was an easy way to check that she was okay, but over time it’s become a comfort thing. Whenever I have a quiet moment, I tap in. 

I asked her before if it makes her uncomfortable that I listen to her heartbeat, but she wasn’t bothered. In fact, she was quite touched that I care that much about her. She told me that no one’s cared for her like that before. 

I’m determined to be that person for her.

———

_Five: her hands._

Lena’s hands are storied; by that, I mean each mark, wrinkle, and scar on them tells a tale. There’s the one time she slipped and fell through a glass door when she was eight in the center of her right palm. The scar on her left index finger is when she got caught up in a cooling fan three years ago. Her left thumb can pop out of its socket—she learned that when she was kidnapped last year and attempted to get out of handcuffs. The time she caught the wrong end of a sabre is the gash on her right second knuckle.

The tips of her fingers are calloused, from years of hiding in a lab and learning the cello, but her palms are soft. There’s always nicks or scratches around the knuckles from handling machinery and papers, and they’re usually stained with whatever she was working with, too. Watching her fingers work is like seeing ballet. They move with such precision and grace. It’s amazing to think of the things she’s done and created with those hands. 

Lena’s very expressive with her hands—sometimes, she talks more through just them. She does this thing when she’s nervous where she rubs the fingers of one hand with the other hand. It’s small and sometimes unnoticeable by most, but I catch it all the time. When she’s concentrating on something, if she’s holding a pencil she just absentmindedly flips that thing around. I still don’t know how she does it. 

Whenever I see Lena worry her fingers, I grab one of her hands to stop it. It’s a gut response, to ease her. Then she starts playing with _my_ fingers, but I can’t pull away. It seems to help her. Her hands are refreshingly chilly against mine, apparently due to her anemia. I’d rather have her play with my fingers than drink to excess.

Touch and Lena have a complicated relationship. She grew up with very little physical affection, and it still hurts her and shapes her to this day. But she’s getting more comfortable with it. She’s started initiating hugs, or cuddles. Her shoulders aren’t stiff, her curves are soft, and her hands find ways to link up with mine. When we’re sitting on the couch in her office for lunch or an interview, or huddled in front of the television, or in the back of her car, or under warm covers in bed, she stays close. It’s a big “aw” moment.

Lena’s hand slips into mine so casually now, it’s hard to reconcile that with the fact that she used to be the cold, aloof, and standoffish business woman at the helm of a strained business. But I am so _here_ for this growth.

———

_Six: her strength._

Sure, I might be the one with super strength. But Lena’s still stronger than me. 

It’s true that our early childhood started similarly—orphaned at an early age, and adopted into families to live out the rest of their lives. 

But unlike me, Lena did not grow up in a loving family. She grew up with the Luthors. Her DSM-V has more tabs than a soda can factory. She double checks the locks on all the exits/entrances every night. She keeps a Glock in her nightstand.

But she also waltzes through stress, sickness, assassination attempts, paparazzi, men, and all other things with her head held high. She tries so hard to keep things together. And as I said before, on top of all that, she always has a smile ready for me. 

She could just give up. But she still manages to be better, be _good._ She’s an inspiration to me. 

To remain firm in your beliefs in the face of opposition, especially the daunting opposition she has to deal with literally every waking moment of her life, is so much harder than lifting a tank. 

I don’t know how she does it. 

———

“Honey, I’m home!” 

Kara shakes her head and snickers softly. It’s their little inside joke, to enter their shared apartment like a man from the 1950s sitcom. It confuses a lot of people, especially Alex, but it’s their little thing. She yells back her usual response from her room. “Hey, babe!”

Usually, the businesswoman would find Kara and pull her away from the desk with _How was your day?_ and _I missed you._ It doesn’t happen today.

So Kara shrugs, then finishes the last sentence of her article, sends it off, picks up her empty mug, and meanders to the kitchen. 

She sees Lena standing in front of the couch, still in her cocoon coat. The younger woman looks like she’s reading something important, so Kara grabs another mug from the cupboard. She zaps water in both, drops a teabag in Lena’s, and sets them on the coffee table.

“Lee?”

The blonde finally sees what the other woman is reading. It’s her journal. She’d left it open on the couch, so she can’t exactly blame the brunette for picking it up and reading it.

Lena closes the journal gently, setting it next to the mugs. She wraps her arms around Kara’s waist, looking up at the blonde. 

“Is that really how you see me?” Her dimples pop out and her eyes are shining in fading orange-red sunlight. 

“I don’t write journal entries to _lie.”_

Lena rolls her eyes, before wedging herself under Kara’s chin.

“I love you, you dork.”

———

**Author's Note:**

> hey, thanks for reading—let me know what you think in the comments below.
> 
> find me elsewhere, on [my carrd](https://fireandfolds.carrd.co/), and check out my [glasses fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181505/chapters/55488211).
> 
> stream hippo campus & stan sandra oh,
> 
> kier x


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